Playing Kazekage
by Kayenvy
Summary: Everybody has their guilty pleasures...


Playing Kazekage [Gaara Oneshot]

I knocked on the door even though I knew there would be no answer. A chuunin floated past me and turned at the end of the hallway, leaving me alone. I edged open the door.

The office was empty as I knew it would be, Gaara was off sorting some new sand genins. I had come here under a false pretence, which rustled in my hands accusing me in it's harsh paper talk. The door frame loomed like the eerie edge of a forest, dark and ominous, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to make the mistake of setting foot inside it's territory.

Wind brushed in from an open window, swirling the plain brown curtains like hands beckoning to a lover. Light shone through to spotlight on the polished redwood desk. Redwood surface took to light as if it were an oasis glittering amongst a sea of endless sand. His desk was as clean as the room containing it, empty like the desert outside the walls of Suna.

A metallic cup held his various pens and other stationary necessary for one of the great Kage, a neat stack of unfinished paperwork that is a leaders daily chore and the only personal touch Gaara had thought to add, two small framed photos; one was of Gaara and Naruto Uzumaki and the other was of him and his siblings (I looked particularly stunning in that picture).

_There it is._

Laying elegantly in the corner of Gaaras's desk, folded and smelling of soapy goodness, was the reason I had faked my way into the administration building, past the beady eyes of the secretary and into (though not quite) Gaara's office. It's siren call ringing in my head, commanding my limbs to move, move, just step into the office – I'm alone!

I could stare, just stare at the folds and the creases in the soft, beautiful fabric, but that's all I have been doing ever since he was elected Kazekage. How many male Kazekages have there been? They had all worn the robes, hadn't they? They had felt the soft, tenderly woven fabric against their skin and had the villagers stare at them, dazzled.

That was it, wasn't it? The truth. Kazekages were judged by the people, not by their skill in battle or their leadership qualities but how amazing they looked in those robes. But anyone could look good in robes like _that_.

The sun weighed on them, illuminating the robes like a merchant wheeling and dealing his merchandise. Dancing around the cart, "_Come one, come all!"_

With a loud, booming voice. "_This is a finest material you've ever seen! There is nothing else like it, it's a one time offer not to be passed up."_

Then turning, locking greedy, unnervingly eyes with mine. "_Look around you, do you see anyone watching? You're alone and Gaara wont be back for another few hours."_

An alluring smile. "Y_ou know you want it."_

And I do want it. Not the responsibility or the paperwork or the annoying demands of a village that come with it, only the robes of a Kazekage. The navy blue of the broad brimmed hat; the flowing fabric that cascades like white water rapids, pouring over the edge of a cliff in a desperate rush.

My foot hovers, shaking, for too long a moment and then I'm over the threshold. There are no sirens, no screams, no whistling of a knife flying through the air, just the heave of my chest and the rustle of curtains. I'm alone with the robes and Gaara won't be back for at least another hour.

It's a journey to the desk at the back of the room, every step feels like a million, but then, like magic, it's right in front of me. The redwood surface glares up at me with eyes of reflected light. The paperwork excuse bounces in my hand as I extend it towards the perfect pile on his desk, it hangs above it. My hands clench and unclench, one by one my fingers peel off and with the last finger it floats onto the stack, slightly diagonal rather than straight.

A weight on my chest lifts and a smile creeps onto my face.

I glide to the robes, my eyes glint and I stroke the robes with rhythmic movement. The material is soft and silky beneath my fingers. I rock on the balls of my feet, my smile deepens.

My arm slips behind a bend in the fold, lifting it and the robe ripples out of the forced square into a long flowing waterfall. I hold it out and twirl once, admiring the fluidity in movement of it. A small giggle, more suited to a young girl than myself, flees my throat. I don't mind, though. There's no one around to hear me.

I slip the robe over my head and it slides down my body as if it knew just what to do. I spin around but of course there's no mirror in Gaara's office. I don't need to actually see myself to know how good I look. If it suits my brother so well, then it must suit me too.

I yank the official Kazekage hat over my head and to complete the look it casts a small shadow over my eyes. I skip around the desk and slide into the the chair. The little black wheels creak in surprise. A grin spreads across my face.

I kick out from the desk and spin across the floor to the other side of the room. Everything flashes by in a blur of motion and colours. A giggle escapes my mouth again as a warm tingly sensation spreads under my skin.

I kick out again and again, spinning and twirling from one side of the room to the other, giggling and squealing all the way. Chakra pushes me along further and faster, sometimes taking the chair off the ground.

My hand grazes along the desk, sweeping the paperwork with me in a mess of fluttering and falling like leaves in the wind. A shock of red in the doorway as I plunge past, my head turns to meet aquamarine eyes.

My feet drag helplessly along the carpet and I come to a halt just in front of the wall. My chair swivels to face the door. In the middle of the door frame stands Gaara with a peculiar expression on his face. "Was that _you_ giggling, Kankurou?"


End file.
